not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, November 5, 2015


The Farm

Frank stooped, pulled the lever, popped the trunk.
Ma closed her jacket, pretended to preen over last year's garden,
Clots and clumps of soil, the sunflowers solemn shepherds, soft shouldered.
John and Harold put the suitcases in
and Molly shifted her feet, crinkled her pretty dress's hem.
She wanted to look nice so had forsaken her sweater.
I kicked the tires, a half-hearted guise at a safety inspection.
Then Joshua, the neighbour, clucked the sign with his tongue.
They'd pull away. It would all pull away.
It would begin its slow release around the borders.